Hi I'm Andrea Gibson and this is my poem "The Nutritionist." The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables Said if I could get down 13 turnips a day I would be grounded, rooted. Said my head would not keep flying away to where the darkness lives. The psychic told me my heart carries too much weight Said for 20 dollars she’d tell me what to do I handed her the twenty, she said “stop worrying darling, you will find a good man soon.” The first psychotherapist said I should spend 3 hours a day sitting in a dark closet with my eyes closed and my ears plugged. I tried it once but couldn’t stop thinking about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet. The yogi told me to stretch everything but truth, said focus on the outbreaths, said everyone finds happiness if they can care more about what they can give than what they get. The pharmacist said klonopin, lamictil, lithium, Xanax. The doctor said an antipsychotic might help me forget what the trauma said The trauma said don’t write this poem. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones But my bones said “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.” My bones said “write the poem.” To the lamplight. Considering the river bed. To the chandelier of your fate hanging by a thread. To everyday you could not get out of bed. To the bulls eye of your wrist To anyone who has ever wanted to die. I have been told, sometimes, the most healing thing we can do- Is remind ourselves over and over and over Other people feel this too The tomorrow that has come and gone And it has not gotten better When you are half finished writing that letter to your mother that says “I swear to God I tried” But when I thought I hit bottom, it started hitting back There is no bruise like the bruise loneliness kicks into your spine So let me tell you I know there are days it looks like the whole world is dancing in the streets when you break down like the doors of their looted buildings You are not alone and wondering who will be convicted of the crime of insisting you keep loading your grief into the chamber of your shame You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth with a red cape inside Some people will never understand the kind of superpower it takes for some people to just walk outside Some days I know my smile looks like the gutter of a falling house But my hands are always holding tight to the ripchord of believing A life can be rich like the soil Make food of decay Turn wound into highway Pick me up in a truck with that bumper sticker that says “it is no measure of good health to be well adjusted to a sick society” I have never trusted anyone with the pulled back bow of my spine the way I trust the ones who come undone at the throat Screaming for their pulse to find the fight to pound Four nights before Tyler Clementi jumped from the George Washington bridge I was sitting in a hotel room in my own town Calculating exactly what I had to swallow to keep a bottle of sleeping pills down What I know about living is the pain is never just ours Every time I hurt I know the wound is an echo So I keep a listening for the moment when the grief becomes a window When I can see what I couldn’t see before, through the glass of my most battered dream, I watched a dandelion lose its mind in the wind and when it did, it scattered a thousand seeds. So the next time I tell you how easily I come out of my skin, don’t try to put me back in just say here we are together at the window aching for it to all get better but knowing there is a chance our hearts may have only just skinned their knees knowing there is a chance the worst day might still be coming let me say right now for the record, I’m still gonna be here asking this world to dance, even if it keeps stepping on my holy feet you- you stay here with me, okay? You stay here with me. Raising your bite against the bitter dark Your bright longing Your brilliant fists of loss Friend if the only thing we have to gain in staying is each other, my god that’s plenty my god that’s enough my god that is so so much for the light to give each of us at each other’s backs whispering over and over and over “Live” “Live” “Live”
嗨,我是安德莉雅·吉布森, 這是我的詩〈營養師〉。 營養師告訴我, 要多吃根莖類蔬菜, 他說如果我能 每天吃十三顆大頭菜, 我便能深埋土壤,像種子一樣紮根, 這樣我的思緒 就不會飄入黑暗深淵。 靈媒告訴我, 我的心承受了太多重量, 給她二十塊, 她就能為我指點迷津。 我給她二十,她說: 「別擔心,親愛的, 妳很快就會遇上對的人了。」 第一任心理治療師告訴我,每天 花三個小時在漆黑的衣櫃裡靜坐, 閉上雙眼, 塞住耳朵。 我試了一次, 但總覺得坐在櫃子裡很像同性戀。 瑜伽大師告訴我, 把一切伸展開來,除了真相, 他說把注意力放在吐氣, 還說人人都能找到幸福, 如果每個人都能多付出,少求回報。 藥劑師告訴我,要吃克癇平、 樂命達、鋰齊寧、贊安諾。 醫生告訴我,也許抗精神病藥 可以幫我忘了我的創傷。 我的創傷告訴我, 不要寫這首詩, 沒有人想聽你哭訴 你那痛心刻骨的悲傷, 但我的內心深處告訴我, 「泰勒·克萊門蒂跳入哈德遜河, 因為他深信他孤獨無依。」 我內心的聲音告訴我: 「寫下這首詩。」 寫給燈光, 哈德遜河底是那麼的黑暗。 寫給你那懸在水晶燈上的命運, 寫給無力下床的每一天, 寫給你手腕上的傷口, 寫給那些動過輕生念頭的人。 有人跟我說過, 有時候最療癒的事—— 就是一遍又一遍的提醒自己, 其他人也經歷過這樣的痛。 一天天過去了, 一切並沒有好轉, 給母親的信,只寫了一半, 信中寫到 「我發誓我真的盡力了」 但當我以為我已墜入谷底, 一切又開始好轉, 沒有一種傷痕, 像孤獨一樣深入骨髓。 所以讓我告訴你, 我知道有時候你會覺得, 這個世界充滿歡樂, 唯獨你不堪一擊, 像一扇被歹徒踢開的門, 你並不孤單, 也不是只有你會去想, 是什麼讓你試圖 用悲傷將羞愧感淹沒, 你的心很沈重不代表你很脆弱。 每一個受傷的靈魂, 都是身披紅色披風的超級英雄, 有些人永遠不會了解, 對於某些人來說, 光是面對這個世界, 就需要有超能力。 我知道有時候我的笑容很牽強, 但我的手總緊握著 對生命的信念, 生命可以富饒的像土壤, 貧瘠的土地能長出果實, 傷口能化為高速公路, 開輛卡車來接我, 車尾貼上一張貼紙,寫著: 「能適應這個病態的社會, 不代表你很健康。」 我從不輕易相信任何人, 但我相信那些 還剩一絲氣息的人, 他們仍在奮鬥, 為生命的脈搏嘶吼。 在泰勒·克萊門蒂跳下 華盛頓大橋 4 天前的夜裡, 我坐在我老家的飯店房間裡, 計算著我要如何 才能吞下一整瓶安眠藥, 我對人生的體悟, 就是每個人都有每個人的痛苦。 每次我受傷了, 我知道傷口就像回音, 所以我仔細聆聽, 等待某一刻我的悲傷化作窗口, 等待某一刻 我能看見我曾經忽略的, 在曾重創我的惡夢裡, 我看見一株蒲公英在風中飛舞, 並散播出數千顆種子。 所以下回當我告訴你 我有多容易感到害怕時, 別把我推回原點, 你只要告訴我你會陪著我, 在窗前痛苦的等待一切好轉, 也許我們的心只是擦傷了, 也許最糟糕的那天還是會到來, 但我保證我還是會陪著你, 邀世界與我共舞, 即使它不斷反踩我的腳。 你——你也陪著我,好嗎? 你也陪著我。 咬緊牙關面對苦澀的黑暗, 你對光明的渴望, 即使輸了也握緊雙拳, 朋友啊。 即使我們活著只擁有彼此, 天啊那已經很多了, 天啊那已經足夠了, 天啊,我們可帶給彼此無盡的光明, 我們一起支持著彼此, 一遍一遍的低喃: 「活下去」 「活下去」 「活下去」